


This Love (Has Taken Its Toll On Me)

by daasgrrl



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-22
Updated: 2007-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daasgrrl/pseuds/daasgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake survives the cut from three to two, and gets a visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Love (Has Taken Its Toll On Me)

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : None of this actually happened, sadly.

_My pressure on your hips_   
_Sinking my fingertips_   
_Into every inch of you_   
_Cause I know that's what you want me to do_

_-_ **This Love** , Maroon 5

  
It took Blake almost half an hour just to make the trip from the circular stage to his dressing room - his ‘real’ one in the bowels of the building, not the one set up backstage for the quick changes and touchups during the show itself. Even though fans, friends and family were kept strictly away from the private studio areas, it still seemed as though every second or third person he passed in the long hallways wanted a wave, a smile, a chat. Obviously even the studio staff and privileged backstage visitors weren’t immune from the hype of results night. He didn’t mind; he was still buzzed from the thrill of surviving another week, of making it to the finale, and he took their handshakes and slaps on the back and congratulations with thanks and enthusiasm.

He was still grinning and bouncing on his toes a little by the time he pushed open the door to his dressing room. At least it was his _now_ ; originally the twelve contestants performing each night had been allocated two to a room on performance nights only, but as their numbers dwindled they had fanned out into one each and staked their claims. With the exception of he and Chris, who had kept on sharing theirs right up to the night of Chris’ departure, much to the amusement and gossip of the others. But for the last two weeks he had sat alone and watched Jan powdering up his reflection in the long mirror surrounded by lights, glancing over occasionally at the empty chair beside him. He got on fine with her, but he missed talking with Chris before the show, shooting the breeze, making wisecracks about the fuckups that often occurred during rehearsals. There were other things he missed too.

But right now his mind was on the beer waiting for him in the cooler, a change of clothes, and a minute to breathe before throwing himself out into the madness again. There would be a huge “final two” after-party upstairs tonight with past and present contestants, their family and friends, various celebrities and Idol staff and hangers-on, and that was going to be his next stop before heading back to the hotel to finally grab some sleep. The hallways were a lot emptier now; only the contestants and direct production staff were allowed in this area, which at least gave him a chance to get into his dressing room in peace.

“Hey, beauty queen, congratulations.”

Blake had turned his head at the last moment to double check the time on the wall clock outside, and was completely unprepared for the bunch of flowers that was suddenly thrust at him from inside the doorway. He took it reflexively before he looked up and recognition kicked in. Then he grinned as Chris extended a hand to usher him further into the room, shutting the door behind them.

“Hey man, what are you doing here?” Blake said, looking for somewhere to ditch the flowers, finally putting them down on the empty side of the dressing room table. “And what the hell are those for?”

“Big party, remember?” Chris had already opened a beer, and handed Blake one as he had done many times after a show. “Not just for you finalist big shots. So I thought I’d come on down. And you gave your flowers away, so I thought you deserved some more.” He laughed.

“But where did you…” Blake twisted the top off and gestured with the rest of the bottle towards the bouquet before taking a sip. They were a showy but tasteless riot of blue, yellow and pink, done up in silver and purple wrapping.

“Snuck into Paula’s dressing room,” Chris said, almost causing Blake to choke. “Don’t worry, she gets dozens just like it every show. She’ll never miss one. You wouldn’t believe the other stuff she has in there.”

Blake laughed. “So tell me.”

“Later. Final two, bro. How’s it feel?” Chris sat down in the chair he’d occupied up until so recently and leaned back, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

“Feels great. Wish you were here with me.”

“Well, I kind of _am_.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Nah, it’s good. I’m happy for you.” Chris smiled, and held his bottle up. “Cheers.”

They clinked the bottles together, and Blake took another sip, leaning against the table. It was good to have Chris there again; two weeks already seemed like a lifetime ago.

“You think you could actually walk away with this thing?” Chris continued.

Blake shook his head. “Not up against Jordin. She’s _seventeen_ , have you heard? Oh, my god! She’s so _amazing_!” His impression of an excited fan made Chris laugh.

“Ah, so what if she is? You can take her. Shake ‘n’ Blake! Remember?” He waved his free hand in mock adoration.

“God, don’t remind me, _Timberlake_.” Blake retaliated, cuffing him across the head. “I’m just saying.”

They drank in silence for a moment. Blake was still too restless to sit down, but he was feeling a little calmer now, the adrenalin high wearing off a little in the relative quiet of the room, the effects of the alcohol slowly seeping into his bloodstream. Tonight had been a huge rush - all the shows were, but the pressure had been mounting steadily higher each week, and the subsequent relief had been correspondingly greater as well. By the end of next week’s results show he’d probably be a nervous wreck, win or lose. But Chris’ presence reminded him that there was still going to be life after Idol. No matter what, there’d be something out there for him, and even before that, they’d be going on the tour together for three months. It was going to be a blast.

“Thanks for dropping by,” Blake said at last, and then grinned as Chris had to push the stolen flowers aside a little before he could set down his beer.

“Missed you.” Chris was looking up at him steadily, a small smile on his face, but his eyes were serious, their green-flecked depths mesmerizing.

“Yeah.” The demands of the show were brutal; they all worked sixteen-hour days, six days a week, and even their ‘free’ Sundays were usually spent frantically rehearsing. When Chris had left the show, he might as well have moved to Siberia for the duration. Blake hadn’t fully realized how weird it would be not having him around all the time until suddenly he wasn’t.

Blake set his own bottle down on the table, and gestured with an upwards tilt of his head. “Come here.”

Chris stood up and let Blake pull him into a tight embrace, the first real contact they’d had since Chris had left their dressing room that night, two weeks ago. Then they were kissing, and Blake began to realize how much he really _had_ missed him, and this, and the adrenalin started to course through his veins all over again.

They’d been friends for a while of course, ever since Hollywood week when they’d bonded under the pressures of the production schedule and a shared love of Maroon 5 and Mraz, and Blake had been pretty pleased when they’d both made it onto the show. Chris was cool, funny, and laid-back, but he had an intensity about him that was compelling and sometimes a little scary. However, they had always gotten on well, and sharing a dressing room had been great, no problems at all.

Then one afternoon they had been getting ready for a rehearsal, and Chris had started bitching about how tense he was. Blake always got a small flutter of nerves before a performance, but Chris tended to get completely wound up whenever he had to sing, even though tonight’s run through was only for the camera operators and for the producers to determine the show’s final running order. He’d jokingly offered to rub Chris’ shoulders, and to his surprise Chris had taken him up on it. They’d been standing there, face-to-face, Blake’s hands working away, and halfway through Chris had leaned forward and kissed him. After a couple of minutes it had become clear that there were other means of stress relief they could take advantage of, and they’d only just made it onto the set in time. But at least they’d been pretty relaxed when they got there.

There wasn’t much more time now, but there was no sense in wasting it. Blake pushed his hands up under Chris’ T-shirt and helped pull it off over his head even as Chris struggled to do the same with the T-shirt/shirt/tie combination Blake had chosen for tonight’s show.

“Why do you wear this stuff?” Chris mumbled, fumbling with the tie. It was a well-worn complaint.

“It’s my style, man,” Blake said, finally shrugging the shirt off. “Maybe you’d like me to walk around naked.”

“Would save time.”

Chris slowly backed Blake against the door, kissing him as he went, and then reached out a hand to push the thin metal bar into its locked position. Then they moved back against the dressing room table, Blake’s hands roaming over Chris’ bare skin.

“Hey, maybe we _should_ let someone catch us,” Blake said.

“Why, because you’re _insane_?”

“I’m gonna lose anyway. Might as well make it good. ‘Idol finalists in gay sex scandal!’” Blake falsettoed. “Simon would have a stroke. We’d get kicked off the tour and never work again. But it’d almost be worth it.”

“Can we not talk about the show right now? _Especially_ Simon.” Chris had often complained about Simon’s idea of criticism, which in his opinion was mostly indistinguishable from blatant rudeness.

“Sorry.” Blake reached for the button of Chris’ jeans, stroking his fingers downwards as Chris’ breath hissed out from between his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better,” Chris murmured, and then he was kissing Blake again, grinding their hips together. All the blood seemed to drain from Blake’s limbs and rush straight to his dick at the contact, Chris’ erection rubbing so shamelessly against his.

“God,” Blake gasped into his mouth. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, that was the idea,” Chris said, undoing his jeans and pushing them down, motioning Blake to do the same with his pants. “And you’d better hurry up about it.”

There was Vaseline in a jar on the table, and Blake slathered it over his dick as Chris bent over the table, his face close to the mirror. His reflection looked a little pale and washed out in the harsh white light of the surrounding bulbs, but to Blake the sight was still a turn on. They had done this once or twice, but never like this, right here in the actual studio. Here they had mostly stuck to hand jobs, the occasional blow job. That had usually been Chris as well, although Blake had tried his mouth at it a couple of times with a fair degree of success.

“You want me to…” Blake held up his hand uncertainly, meeting Chris’ eyes in the mirror, the memory of stolen nights in his mind. Chris had always seemed to know what he was doing, what he wanted, and Blake had been content to follow his lead.

Chris shook his head. “I already… look, it’s okay. But take it slow.”

Blake nodded, and positioned himself behind Chris, looking at the reflection of his face and Chris’, together, one above the other. He smirked a little at the sight.

“What?” Chris said, and then shut his eyes as Blake began to push into him, a fraction at a time, struggling to relax enough against the intrusion. “Oh, fuck, yeah.”

“I dunno. It’s just… this is kind of a little… kinky… isn’t it?” Blake inched forward carefully until he was buried inside Chris, and then stopped.

This made Chris open his eyes again. He flicked his gaze upwards, and met Blake’s reflected grin with one of his own. “Maybe if you’d stop staring at yourself, pretty boy, and get on with it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Slowly Blake began to thrust in and out, Chris’ body tight and hot around him, and it felt fucking fantastic. For a moment it all seemed to fall away, the pressure, the tension, all the bullshit and hype and expectation that seemed to get thrown at him every waking hour of every day. There was just this slow and gentle slide and the good feeling growing in his gut and Chris’ quiet grunts as he moved under him.

“Oh, yeah,” Blake muttered.

“Come on,” Chris was saying, his face twisted in concentration. “Haven’t got all day. Speed it up.”

Blake obeyed, quickly losing himself in the rhythm. At one stage Chris shifted himself slightly, so he could push back against Blake, and all of a sudden it was _intense_ , and Blake could feel himself losing control as he slammed into Chris again and again.

“Chris, I’m gonna…” he said, and all he could hear was Chris moaning, the sound of their bodies slapping together, the slick noises of Chris’ hand on his own dick as they moved in unison. Blake moved his own hand to cover Chris’, pushing them both against the edge of the table even more viciously.

“Oh fuck,” Chris said, “ _fuck_ ,” and then he was trembling, and Blake was crying out too, doing his best to stifle the sound against Chris’ back as own his orgasm shook him. He slumped against Chris, breathing hard, for a long moment aware of nothing but the skin under his cheek and the frantic beating of his own heart.

Then there was a sudden double tap on the door, and they both froze.

“Blake?” The muffled voice was Daniela’s, one of the production assistants, sounding harassed. “They’re looking for you upstairs.”

“Be right out!” Blake said, straightening up a little and glancing at Chris in the mirror. Their eyes met, and he had to suppress the laughter that threatened to bubble out of him. Chris looked like he was doing the same. “I’m just… I’m getting changed.”

“Well, hurry up!” she yelled. “Nigel wants you up there _now_. Have you seen Chris? Richardson, that is, Sligh’s there already.”

“I bet he is. Kissing ass for all he’s worth,” Chris muttered, and Blake had to fight down the urge to snicker.

“Nope,” Blake yelled back. “Sorry. If I see him _I’ll let him know_ ,” he added, squeezing Chris’ shoulder meaningfully as Chris rested his hands on the table and buried his face in them, his body shaking.

“You do that,” she said, and they both breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of her heels tapping as she walked away.

Finally, Blake pulled out, and they just stood there for a moment, pants around their ankles, leaning against the table and each other, almost crying with laughter. Chris was the first to recover and make a move to tidy up, reaching for the container of wet wipes on the counter.

“Go on,” he said, giving Blake a small push towards the clothes rack and its assortment of outfits. “ _Getting changed_ , remember?”

That almost set Blake off again, but he managed to pull himself together. He got out of the rest of his clothes, having to stop to toe off his sneakers before getting rid of his pants. Chris handed him a couple of wipes and he used them to clean himself off roughly before tossing them in the trash and pulling his briefs back up.

“See, that’s a good look for you,” Chris said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. He was already cleaned up and back into his T-shirt and jeans, looking completely unruffled.

“Shut up,” Blake said, grinning, and quickly grabbed a T-shirt, jacket and his khakis off the rack. “You better go up first, or somebody might notice.”

“I thought you said you didn’t care if they did.”

“Hey, haven’t you heard? I could be the next _American Idol_.” He mimicked Ryan’s announcer voice perfectly, finishing off with a little spontaneous vocal drum-roll and cymbal clash.

Chris grinned and held up his hand, and Blake gave him a half-dressed high five, almost falling over as he did so.

“Don’t go getting all cocky now,” Chris said, grabbing his arm to steady him. “See you up there,” he added, heading for the door.

“Chris,” Blake said, calling him back. He grabbed Chris’ hand for a moment and tilted his head up slightly to kiss him. Then he nodded and let go.

Chris gave him a final wave and walked out, the door opening and closing behind him. Blake struggled into the rest of his clothes, drained the last of his beer, and threw both bottles into the battered trash can. Then he checked his hair in the mirror and straightened his clothes. On a last-minute impulse he broke off one of the flowers from the bunch, a small yellow daisy that matched the T-shirt he was wearing, and stuck it into the lapel buttonhole of the jacket. He knew Chris would notice and appreciate it, even if no-one else did.

“Lookin’ _good_ ,” he muttered to himself, wryly. The show was insane, but for the moment, it was _his_ insanity and he would make the most of it.

He gave himself a final look over in the mirror and grinned, striking a stupid pose, then ran his hand through his hair once more and headed out to the party. It had been a pretty damn good night so far, and you know, there was always the tiny possibility that Chris might be right. If his luck held out, maybe he _could_ win this thing, after all.


End file.
